


Soul McMates

by distortedreality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack Fic, I don't know what the fuck this is, M/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedreality/pseuds/distortedreality
Summary: The black script magically inked onto Stiles’ skin at birth declares that the first thing he’ll say to his soulmate is “welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you”.Stiles’ life was clearly destined to be a fucking joke from the start.





	Soul McMates

**Author's Note:**

> This story was just an excuse to write about Stiles in a Ronald McDonald costume. I’m not even sorry.

The black script magically inked onto Stiles’ skin at birth declares that the first thing he’ll say to his soulmate is “welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you”.

Stiles’ life was clearly destined to be a fucking joke from the start.

He bounced back and forth between bitching to Scott about corporate greed and how he wasn’t going to feed into the capitalist system, and debating filling out an application to work at the McDonalds on Main Street, because everyone said your soulmate was worth it. And Stiles thought that they were probably worth bending over backwards for. He just wasn’t sure if some mystery person was worth getting screamed at by a soccer mom because the fries he handed to her ten minutes prior had gone cold on her drive home. And, yes, that had happened.

When he’d finally applied at fifteen he’d thought his soulmate would immediately turn up. The first few customers he served that were even remotely around his age had nearly made him throw up in excitement. Unfortunately, they would all rattle their orders back to him without a glimmer of interest in their eyes; a pattern that would repeat itself many times over the three years that he worked there.

Every time he’d serve a customer he’d make sure to greet them exactly as his soul words were written, even when Scott and his other coworkers started forming their own more relaxed greetings.

He tried to use the words as a pickup line a few times, playing it off as a joke when he was met with confused reactions that stayed confused long after his actual soulmate would have stopped short in realization.

He wondered if his soulmate had an order scrawled across their arm. They probably did, the poor sod. He hoped for their sake it was a little one and not an order for a party or something. There’d been a girl on the news at one point whose whole arm was covered in her soul words. Her soulmate had turned out to be a judge at a beauty pageant she was in and the words for the question she’d asked her had been printed on her arm. She’d ended up being disqualified since she’d apparently known the question in advance, but Stiles thought the whole thing was super romantic.

Know what wasn’t romantic? Having a fucking McDonalds greeting on his arm. His nickname through school had always been fucking ‘Ronald’ thanks to the stupid mark. Was his soulmate’s nickname cheeseburger? Stiles wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse. Probably worse.

It was a Thursday when Stiles had finally had enough.

Some stupid dude had thrown a burger at his head because he’d ordered the wrong one and somehow that was Stiles’ fault. Stiles had yelled at him and been sent to the back by Finstock while he worked it out.

“I’m taking a stand if Finstock gives that guy free shit,” Stiles declared, kicking one of the cardboard boxes in the back area.

Scott nodded reassuringly.

“Why the fuck do we even still work here?” Stiles cried.

“Beats me,” Scott laughed. “You’re the one who forced me to apply here in the first place so you could meet your soulmate.”

“Scott, I’ve come to the conclusion that my soulmate wouldn’t want me to die a little more every day from working here. We’re quitting.”

“Fuck yes,” Scott yelled, pulling off his hat and throwing it on the ground. After a moment he paused and picked it back up. “But not in the middle of a shift because I need that reference.”

“Tomorrow. We’ll quit after the shift tomorrow,” Stiles declared.

“Are you sure though?” Scott asked. “If you don’t work here you probably won’t find your soulmate.”

“Hey, it’s destiny, right? I’ll find them another way,” Stiles replied. He wasn’t sure if he believed it.

Since the next day would be his last shift, he kicked the flirtatiousness into overdrive and pushed himself hard at all the customers he served. According to Scott the expression on his face made him look constipated, but what the fuck did Scott know. Stiles had practiced his bedroom eyes in the mirror for hours the night before, and they looked bloody good.

The customers apparently didn’t share his enthusiasm that day, or the next.

By his lunch break on his last day he’d managed to get dirty looks from a carful of guys, a chuckle from a grandmother, and a terrified look from a young girl and her mother. He was pretty sure he’d also made a kid cry.

“Scott, I’m fucked,” Stiles groaned after clocking off.

“Not yet. Maybe after Finstock finds out what we’re doing, but we’re going out with a bang,” Scott replied.

“Yes, I like the sound of this,” Stiles cried.

“At the end of the shift we’re stealing some burgers and giving them to homeless people. We get to give the finger to the corporate empire, and feed some hungry dudes at the same time.”

“Scotty, you’re a genius,” Stiles stated. “If we’re doing that then we need the proper attire. If we sprint to the costume shop on First we should be back in time for the end of break.”

“Then why are we still here?” Scott joked.

The costumes were horrific. The suit smelled like mildew and hung off Stiles like a sack. The smell of the red afro made him gag, and the face paint that came with it looked well used. But, hey, it would do the trick. Stiles and Scott would be the best fucking Ronald McDonalds Beacon Hills had ever seen.

By the end of the shift Stiles was practically vibrating with excitement. He and Scott snuck back into the kitchen after clocking off and set about making a whole stack of different burgers. As they laughed to each other, Finstock rounded the corner and stared at them with raised eyebrows.

“Uh…” Stiles trailed off, glancing between the burgers and Scott.

“Look, at this point I wouldn’t care if you burned the store down around me,” Finstock declared, and walked into the office, shutting the door.

Scott shrugged and they set about finishing off their stack.

They changed into their costumes in the bathroom and helped each other apply the wide red mouths in face paint, looking every bit the jolly clown.

“Is this what adult trick or treating is like?” Stiles pondered as they walked with the bags of McDonalds towards the warehouse district. Lots of homeless people liked to hole up there during the night, so it seemed like as good a place as any to start.

As expected, the couple of people they found were very receptive to the free food, though Scott whispered that they all looked terrified.

“Do you think we overdid it on the makeup?” Scott asked after a woman sprinted in the opposite direction after seeing them coming down the street.

“Nah, we look great,” Stiles replied. “The red nose really suits you, man.”

***

Derek’s been having a bad day. No, that’s a lie. He’s been having a bad _year_. In January his girlfriend had broken up with him and had broken into his apartment and stolen all his throw pillows and his favourite rug. Who steals a rug? Fucking Kate, that’s who. Derek had since replaced the throw pillows, but hadn’t been able to find a rug made of the same material in the sky blue colour he liked, so his wood floors had been uncomfortably bare for months.

The day was supposed to have been good. After scouring the internet for longer than he’d like to admit, he’d found a store in Beacon Hills that stocked the rug, and was going to head out after work to pick it up. That’s when the day turned to shit. First, he was late to work after spilling his coffee down his front and having to run the few blocks back to his loft and change shirts. Then when he finally got to work he found out his best friend was being transferred to another department so he’d barely get to see her during the day anymore. To put the nail in his coffin, his card had gotten declined at the rug store and he’d had to dig around in his car for enough cash to pay for it. Going back another day was not an option judging by the middle aged woman hungrily eyeing the rug in his arms, and he wasn’t letting the fucking thing slip through his fingers again. He’d stupidly assumed his bad luck was over when he’d found a couple of $20 bills underneath his passenger seat, but after sorting out the payment and an extended warranty for the rug he’d walked out to find out he’d locked his keys in the car.

He called Boyd to ask him to grab the spare from their apartment, but Boyd was in the middle of dinner with Erica’s family, so Derek would have to wait. He settled on the cold ground in his suit that likely wouldn’t survive the rough treatment, and wrapped the rug around him for warmth, glaring down at the asphalt.

That was when he found out that he was going to die. He’d read Stephen King as a teenager, so he knew clowns were fucking evil. This just confirmed it. Two guys dressed in clown costumes carrying massive bags were making their way down the darkened street towards him.

Derek wished he’d taken karate as a kid when Laura had signed up.

The guys stopped in front of him, but didn’t immediately whip out knives, to Derek’s surprise and relief.

The one with a bright red plastic nose waved at him. The other one stepped forward and smiled. Derek was pretty sure it was supposed to be reassuring, but the massive drawn on mouth just made it look horrific.

“Welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you?” the guy asked jokingly, pulling a printed menu out of one of the bags. It had certain items crossed out on it, and a tally next to others.

Derek just stared at him. No fucking way was he eating a probably poisoned burger from an evil clown off the street.

Besides, the burgers probably still had pickles on them. Derek fucking hated pickles.

***

Scott honed in on a guy sitting on the curb wrapped in a blue blanket and glaring at the ground like he wanted to burn a hole in it. Stiles figured he was probably angry at his situation, poor guy. It was a cold night and the ground didn’t exactly look comfortable.

He and Scott walked over to where the guy was, who stared at them angrily. He probably thought they were coming to steal his stuff.

“Welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you?” Stiles said. He hoped the joke put the guy at ease.

It didn’t. Homeless guy just looked confused. Angrily confused. A little bit sexily confused, actually. Shit, was it bad to think the homeless guy was hot?

After a moment of silence Stiles smiled and held out a menu towards the guy. “We just quit our shitty jobs so we’re giving stolen McDonalds out to all the homeless people. Shit, sorry if that’s, like, an offensive term. But I promise it’s not poisoned or anything shitty.”

The guy’s glare deepened.

“I’m not homeless, asshole,” he replied.

Stiles raised his eyebrows and glanced over the guy. He was pretty sure it would be insensitive to point out that the guy was sitting on a curb at night wrapped in a blanket – no, a rug. Even better. Maybe he meant that he had a home, but he got kicked out, or something like that. Poor hot homeless guy. Stiles should offer him a hug.

He was about to do just that when the guy’s eyes widened and he dropped his hold on the blanket, letting it slip off of one shoulder, revealing what looked to be a very nice suit. Well shit, maybe he was an undercover cop trying to arrest vagrants or something. And Stiles had just told him they were in possession of stolen McDonalds. How much did you have to steal for it to be grand larceny? Stiles so didn’t want to go to prison for grand larceny over McDonalds. He should’ve burnt the store down when he had the chance.

Hot not-so-homeless guy was staring down at his arm where the looping black script spelled out the words “I’m not homeless, asshole”.

Stiles burst out laughing, doubling over to brace his hands on his knees as he choked out the sounds.

Hot definitely-not-homeless guy was still staring at him, suit sleeve pushed up. He shouldn’t do that, it would wrinkle the material.

Faintly Stiles heard Scott yell “seriously” from behind him as he read the words on the guy’s arm.

“I’m not homeless,” the guy said again, still staring at Stiles with wide eyes.

“I’m so mad,” Stiles said through his laughter.

“You’re mad that I’m not homeless?” The guy looked affronted. “Do you have some kind of homeless kink? Are there roofies inside the Big Macs?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles cried, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“I’m about to be murdered by my killer clown soulmate,” the guy said, staring off into the distance. “My soulmate is a killer clown.” He looked like he was having an out of body experience.

“Nobody’s getting murdered,” Scott screamed.

“I might murder myself, actually,” Stiles joked, setting the bag of burgers down on the ground. “I didn’t work for three soul crushing years at that job to meet my soulmate outside of there. Do you know how many people yelled at me about the ice cream machine, hot not-homeless guy? Too damn many. Do you even eat McDonalds?”

Not-homeless guy shook his head.

“Fucking fantastic,” Stiles cried.

“So since my idiot best friend is apparently having a mental breakdown over there, I’ll introduce us. I’m Scott, this is Stiles,” Scott piped up.

“Derek,” the guy replied. He shook Scott’s hand.

“So, Derek, why are you sitting on a curb wrapped in a rug? No judgement on the rug, it’s actually really nice,” Stiles asked, smiling at Derek.

“Thanks,” Derek replied with a wide smile. Stiles decided to mark down “rug kink” as a selling point. “Uh, did you want to get coffee? I can tell you all about how I met my soulmate on the worst day of my life and you can tell me why you guys are cosplaying Pennywise and scaring the shit out of people.”

“It’s Ronald McDonald, you heathen,” Stiles hissed, but he smiled.

As it turned out Derek was most definitely not homeless and lived in a nice loft downtown, which he dropped the rug off at on the way to the coffee shop.

“Not keen on leaving it in the car?” Stiles joked.

“If I could keep this in the middle of Area 51, I would,” Derek replied. “I’m guarding this rug with my fucking life.”

Stiles decided Derek’s rug obsession was cute. That was definitely a cause he could get behind.

Later on that night, after a number of cups of coffee and a fantastic make out session, Derek ended up fucking Stiles into that very rug. After making Stiles take off all the fucking clown makeup, that was. Stiles’ smile was ridiculously cute with all the paint wiped off, and Derek wanted to kiss him and never let him go. So that’s what he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, come say hi on [tumblr](https://selectedparagraphs.tumblr.com/)


End file.
